


mine.

by brownest_goldfish_intheair



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Berlermo, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Switching, ehehehe, women are not even that pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29828856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownest_goldfish_intheair/pseuds/brownest_goldfish_intheair
Summary: "He could feel his heart racing, blood collecting in his head and making him feel hot, unable to think clearly.Maybehe was overreacting, but the concept of reasonability was suddenly foreign to his brain.Andrés had looked at someone else.He had looked at someone else and he didn’t even feel guilty for it."
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	mine.

**Author's Note:**

> does this qualify as kinky? i don't even know anymore. enjoy xx

_They're not even that pretty._

Martín was furiously twisting his empty glass in his hand, trying his hardest not to look over at the bar, which, of course, made him stare all the harder. He knew he must look like a complete idiot, throwing death glare after death glare through the crowded room at two people who didn't even notice him, but he didn't have it in him to care. All his senses were focused on being pissed.

Because Andrés, his charming boyfriend, his lovely date, was flirting with _this woman_. And really, Martín didn't understand it. He didn't understand all the fuzz about women. How they were oh so gorgeous with their curves and their long hair and their big eyes. God's greatest creation, Andrés had once called them. Way back when, sure, when he still thought he was straight and had never experienced the pleasures of gay sex, which he had called a revelation on various occasions, but still it rang in Martín’s head sometimes.

Really, they were just a whole lot of body, way too much in his opinion, and then some soft features, high voices and a bit of sweet perfume. Just a little magic trick.

And Andrés was falling for it. He looked absolutely smitten, gracefully exchanging smiles with the tall brunette who had so rudely chatted him up right when he’d gone to get their drinks.

Martín could have strangled her. She’d been devouring Andrés with her eyes from the second they’d entered the bar, completely ignoring Martín’s hand in his, and waited for him as if he were prey. Which was exactly why Martín had wanted to get the drinks, but of course Andrés had to play the gentleman and _insist_. And now there he was, ruining their night _and_ Martín’s mood – the mood that he’d been in all day and that had made him so fucking excited to get back home.

When Andrés came back to their table, it had vaporised, as had the last shred of Martín’s patience; he gave him a strained smile, not contemplating, just _waiting_ to confront him. Andrés was still in high spirits, no wonder after getting this _huge_ share of female attention, kissing Martín’s cheek and resting a hand on his thigh while talking about the way the bartender had made their drinks and about the restaurant they were going to go to, as if absolutely nothing had happened. How dare he?

But Martín controlled himself. Sipped his gin tonic while he listened attentively and nodded his head, calmly followed Andrés out of the bar with a last death glare at the brunette (She didn’t care, she was too busy checking out Andrés’ ass) and let himself be taken to the restaurant where he sat all the way through dinner without so much as mentioning that woman. Until they were walking to their car and Andrés uttered a soft: “You look beautiful tonight.” while he reached for his hand.

“Oh, did you say that to all of your wives too after taking them to dinner?” Not the best start, surely, but it had been the first thing that came to his mind. And Andrés cheap flirting was always easy to attack.

He could feel Andrés turn to look at him, but he kept staring straight ahead as they walked, stubbornly avoiding his gaze.

“What’s wrong, cariño?” Andrés asked after a few seconds, running his thumb over his hand. Martín pulled it away instantly.

Then he hesitated. He had been so busy being mad that he had completely neglected thinking about how exactly he was going to voice that anger.

“You tell me.” He finally said, turning to Andrés with his eyebrows raised when they were right at their car. “Is there something missing in our relationship that you have to get from a random stranger in a bar?” And then he turned away from the dumbfounded look on his face and got into the car without another word.

“Are talking about that woman from before?” Andrés asked while he was starting the car. He sounded way too calm; he really had a talent of driving Martín insane with how collected he always stayed during arguments. Martín didn’t reply, crossing his arms in front of his chest – Andrés was an intelligent man, at times; he would be able to follow. “Cariño, we just talked for a few minutes. She asked me what drinks I could recommend her so I-”

“I don’t care what you talked about, Andrés, it’s the way you looked at her.” Martín could hear his voice already starting to rise in volume. He took a deep breath; he could do this, he could stay calm too.

“The way I… That’s the way I look at everyone.” Andrés sounded a little lost now. He was struggling. _Good_.

“Yeah.” Martín replied, and wow, his voice was actually sounding impressively level. “But she flirted with you and you didn’t look away. Not for one second.”

“Not every woman who talks to me is flirting with me.” Andrés said, with this dismissive, silent chuckle on his lips and _fuck it_ , that was it with trying to stay calm.

“She asked you to recommend her a drink Andrés. What are you, an eighteen-year-old girl on her first clubbing night? That’s the cheapest, most obvious way to chat someone up at a bar.”

His, relatively loud, statement was followed by silence, the noise of wheels on a wet road and their quiet breathing amplifying in his wait for a reply. Finally, Andrés gave him a sideways glare and took a breath to speak.

“I thought you didn’t care what we talked about?” When Martín turned to him, he saw a tiny smirk form on his lips. The rest of the drive was silent.

Martín had a lot of things to say. But when he was taking off his coat, he still hadn’t found a way to put any of them in order. His anger at Andrés stupid, unnecessary flirting had now combined itself with annoyance at how dismissively he was treating the issue and his brain couldn’t quite decide what to put first, what was the _point_.

The point was that Andrés could sleep in the guest bedroom tonight, he decided when he watched him hang up his stupid, pretentious coat. He’d surely put it around a woman’s shoulders before. Granted, he’d also put it around Martín’s a few times, but he wasn’t sure if that made anything better right now.

“I’d like to sleep alone tonight.” He said as he filled a glass with water in the kitchen. “I can get your things from upstairs, if you want.” He didn’t look at Andrés when he spoke, but he heard his footsteps approaching, knew he’d come to stand at the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Martín, come on.” He said and his voice was softer, more apologetic, but Martín knew exactly that he still wasn’t ready to take him seriously. “It was nothing. You were all that was on my mind all night.” He came up behind Martín and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing against him a little. “And all the things I’d do to you once we’d get home.”

His lips scraping the skin on Martín’s neck made him snap out of the confused state he was in, and free himself from Andrés hold with an exasperated:

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

To his credit, Andrés instantly let go and took a step back, looking at Martín with a mix of surprise and worry.

“You think you can just fuck away the problem? That all I need to calm down is a little orgasm? You know what, fuck you.”

He put his glass down into the sink so forcefully, he was surprised it didn’t break, before he turned away and made a smooth – maybe a little dramatic – exit out of the living room and into his office, reserved for his inventions and calculations as Andrés’ was for his art, and tried to shut the door behind him, but was stopped by Andrés’ arm holding it open.

“Martín.” He said, his voice pleading as Martín gave up closing the door and let him walk in after him. He could feel his heart racing, blood collecting in his head and making him feel hot, unable to think clearly.

“If you need to put your cock somewhere so badly, why don’t you go back to the pretty brunette?”

 _Maybe_ he was overreacting, but the concept of reasonability was suddenly foreign to his brain. _Andrés had looked at someone else._ He had looked at someone else and he didn’t even feel guilty for it.

“Martín, please.” Andrés said quietly, suddenly looking small in the way he stood there, with his eyes desperately searching for Martín’s and his hands by his sides in silent surrender, and Martín didn’t know what it was that made him do it, or what purpose he wanted to fulfil with it, but he stepped forward and pushed him back three steps against the wall, the same way Andrés had done with him the first time they’d kissed, but still so different, because as soon as his back hit the wall, he moved his hands up to his throat and wrapped his fingers around the outlines of his trachea.

Silence fell on the room like a bang; Martín’s brain slowly cleared up a little, assessed the position he’d gotten them into.

They were both breathing heavily. Martín wasn’t applying pressure, not enough to cause Andrés serious discomfort, but he was holding him in place firmly. And Andrés… Andrés wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t trying to escape or push Martín off, he just let himself be handled, the smirk from earlier completely washed off his face as he looked at Martín with… _something_. Somewhere between wonder and anticipation. And then he _lifted his chin_ , ever so slightly, to give Martín’s hands better access, and Martín couldn’t help it:

He got up on his tiptoes and leaned in to kiss him, careful at first not to tighten his grip, but instantly changing his mind when he brushed his crotch against Andrés’. He was getting _hard_ , lifting his hips off the wall to grind them against Martín’s as soon as he felt the friction and obscenely moaning into the kiss. So Martín moved the pressure from the front to the sides of his throat and pressed harder.

The noise Andrés made was completely new to him; it was something between a whimper and a groan, primal and pathetic, like a cat getting dicked down in the street in spring, and it awoke something in Martín; he needed to claim, to own, to mark.

He didn’t need to think when he pulled Andrés off the wall by the throat and turned them around to move him to his desk; it was all instinct, _nature_ , his hands working on their own as he made Andrés sit up on the desk and instantly grabbed his lags to wrap them around his waist, pulling him close as he grinded their hips together, earning a surprised gasp followed by a quiet moan.

Their eyes met in the dim light of the table lamp, their bodies pressed together in this rather unusual position, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, and Martín turned his eyes down to where their hips met, just for a split second, and then up again, silently asking _Do you want me to?_ and Andrés nodded his head, barely visible but absolutely clear.

After that, he didn’t waste another second; he moved to pull down Andrés' pants, quick and careless, taking his boxers right with them and leaving Andrés completely exposed while he got a bottle of lube out of the drawer.

 _Willing._ That was how he looked. Begging for it with the way he softly bit his lip as he looked down at Martín’s cock. And of course, what was Martín thinking? Andrés had shown him so many times where he belonged, how could he expect him to understand if he didn’t show him too?

Andrés held his breath when Martín’s slick fingers came to rest against his hole. _He has only done this once_ , he remembered in the rush. And it had been quite the opposite of what they were doing now – all tender and sweet. But then Andrés instantly moved against his fingers, offering them the perfect angle to slide in and Martín took and deep breath when he breached his hole.

“God, you really need this, don’t you?” He said lowly. “You should have just said so.” Andrés didn’t reply, his lips parted in a silent moan as Martín began to move his fingers, and Martín knew instantly that he wouldn’t have the patience to do this thoroughly; Andrés would just have to take him well.

He left him panting while he moved to open his own pants, watching in fascination as he spread his legs wider, his eyes glued to Martín's fingers when they moved up his cock. There was no hesitation in the way they moved, no need to ask for permission when he stepped forward to grab Andrés by the hips; his sigh at the rough touch was enough. Martín thrust into him without thinking, making him whimper in pain as he greedily wrapped his legs around his waist.

 _He was hurting him._ He was hurting him and Andrés _liked_ it; leaned his head back and arched his back and grabbed the table edge for support and Martín couldn't stop himself - he thrust deep and hard, over and over, without mercy, the breathless little noises Andrés made only pouring oil into the fire that was burning in his abdomen. He wanted _more_. He wanted everything Andrés had to give.

"Martín." Andrés moaned breathlessly, his body giving into Martín's thrusts as he let himself fall back on his forearms. "Ah-" Whatever he'd wanted to say was muffled by a strangled moan when Martín tightened his grip and pulled him all the way to the edge, creating an angle in which he could move deeper, and Andrés took it so gratefully, sinking back against the table and letting Martín move his legs into the perfect position. It was euphoric. It was more than just fucking him; it was _using_ him.

_Like something you possessed._

"You're mine." He said through the sound of their skin slapping together and Andrés’ desperate whimpers and throaty moans. Not as dirty talk, not to make it more hot, but because it was true and it was all he could think in that moment. "You're mine, is that fucking understood?"

Andrés took a shallow breath, followed by a breathy moan before he nodded his head, clearly strained but _so eager_.

"Yes." He breathed, closing his lips against another moan. "Yes, I am. I'm- _Martín."_

It didn't take two more thrusts, like it was the words pushing him over the edge, and Andrés was coming, untouched and shaking, all over the pretty silk shirt he was wearing, and Martín buried himself deep inside him before he let go too, his fingers still digging into Andrés’ hip as his heavy orgasm washed over him.

It took him a moment to come down from the high. He had barely caught his breath when Andrés started to move, lifting his back off the table with his eyes still half closed, and yet Martín instantly moved to help him, holding him up when he reached for his shoulders. _Instinct._

“Sorry.” Andrés mumbled, burying his face in the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms tighter around him. “I’m sorry.”

It took Martín a second to catch up, his brain still full of jelly. Oh right, the brunette. The brunette that suddenly didn’t spark a single emotion in him when he thought about her. She could _never_ make Andrés sound like that.

“Shh.” He whispered, running a hand down his back and pulling him closer. “I love you.” He moved in to press their lips together when Andrés looked up at him. “I love you.” He repeated in between small pecks, and Andrés started smiling into it, closing his eyes in utter bliss. Okay, Martín wasn’t the only one who’s brain was jelly now.

“Come on, let’s clean up the mess you made and go to bed.” He smiled, pleasantly regarding the white stains on Andrés’ shirt.

Andrés let him lead him up the stairs and guide him into the bathroom, silently complying when he unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his neck before dampened a towel with warm water to carefully wipe his stomach clean. He was leaning against the sink when Martín brought him fresh pyjamas, looking so goddamn beautiful, with his eyes still a little hazy from being taken so roughly, but his features sharp and attentive as always when he reached for the soft fabric.

“I love you too” He said as he started to get dressed. And that was it. It was as simple and domestic and poetic as that.

“Martín” Andrés whispered into the darkness when they were curled up around each other under the blanket. Martín lifted his head a little, as if he could see him with the lights off. But he didn’t need to – he could tell from his voice how his face looked.

“Yes, mi amor?” He asked, running his hand over the buttons of Andrés’ pyjama top and Andrés took a breath that was a little deeper than the one before.

“I didn’t want her to flirt with me, she was just there, talking to me, and you know how much I like to talk.” Martín couldn’t help but laugh quietly. Now that his anger had disappeared, this whole thing was hilarious. Andrés truly _was_ and eighteen-year-old girl on her first clubbing night. “Hey, stop laughing I- What I’m trying to say is: Next time, please come and save me, okay?” _Oh._ Oh. Martín moved in closer to brush their lips together, swallowing the laughter still stuck in his throat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He whispered and Andrés hummed contently, a small smile on his lips.

“Good. Because you know” He whispered. “you have to take care of what’s yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3


End file.
